


Crazy About You

by I_like_your_genetalia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Crushes, Exchange Student, First Kiss, M/M, Napollya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_like_your_genetalia/pseuds/I_like_your_genetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Illya.” Napoleon started. His name sounded foreign on the American’s tongue, but not wrong. His pronunciation was a little off. “I think there are a few things we need to discuss.” Illya braced himself. This did not sound good. “At this school, I have a reputation. I’m on top, you understand?”</p><p>Illya nodded. “Do not concern yourself,” Illya said, “I am not interested in those American girls.”</p><p>Napoleon scoffed, “I find that unlikely, some of them are practically models.”</p><p>Illya’s cheeks pinked. This is what he had been avoiding. But what he wished to avoid even more was a fight on his first day. “You misunderstand,” he said, voice lowered, “I am not interested in any girls.”</p><p>Napoleon took a small step back as he registered what Illya had just said, instinctively uttering a small “Oh”. Gears clicked over in his head as he readjusted his previous opinions of Illya. Illya offered a small smile and shrugged. With his admission he had seemed to crumble, slouching down so he appeared much smaller than he was. He prepared himself for the worst.</p><p>“Well,” Napoleon said, swallowing, “In that case,” he smirked, “do you want my number"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy About You

**Author's Note:**

> So one of my best friend wrote this Napollya ficlet and I wanted to share it with everyone. Disclaimer: This work is not my own. All credit is given to the original writer of this piece knockknockilikecock (on tumblr )

Starting somewhere new was never easy, Illya Kuryakin knew that more than most. He had moved around a lot when he was younger after his father died, and now here he was, feeling totally lost. New country, new school. Oh well, he thought, at least this will only be temporary. The exchange he was on was only for a year. But then again, a year can be a very long time. Especially if people found out about… well, he knew how mean teenagers could be. Americans had a particularly bad reputation for their cruelty. He just had to keep his head down and not draw too much attention to himself. 

As he pushed open the doors of Washington high he knew how hard a time he would have doing that. Already people were turning to stare at him. He could hear people whispering, though couldn’t quite make out all the words, and the half he could make out he couldn’t really understand. This was going to be a hard day. 

A short, but pretty, brunette peeled away from a group of girls standing by full length grey lockers and bounded up to him.  
“Hi, I’m Gaby.” she said with a welcoming smile, “You look a little lost?”  
Illya curled his lips up a little, trying to make a good first impression. “Yes, I am Illya. I am looking for the… how you say? Priyemnaya, uh…” his eyebrows furrowed “Reception! I am looking for the reception. I am new.”  
“I’ll help you.” Gaby said, looping her arm through his, “Walk with me.”

At the other end of the white walled corridor a boy with slicked brown hair switched his focus from the mini-skirted blonde in front of him to the boy who was walking arm in arm with his best friend, Gaby. The blonde leaning against his locker was still talking to him, but he didn’t bother listening; they never had anything interesting to say anyway. Napoleon Solo was used to getting what he wanted, and this girl was no exception. He only needed to make vague sounds of agreement every now and then. It was not conversation that he was interested in, and the girl appreciated someone who at least had the pretense of listening. 

This new boy though, he worried Solo. The way all the girls had turned to look at him, even the blonde that he was talking to. He was not used to having to fight for attention, and he did not want to get used to it. Although he could see where all the girls were coming from, with his soft blond hair and a mysterious scar that ran like a tear near the corner of his right eye. And his electric blue eyes. And the way his muscular build stretched out the fabric of his black turtle-neck. He was certainly attractive. Napoleon frowned. He would have a lot to compete with. 

 

*****

At lunch Napoleon sat at a table with a blonde, a different one than earlier, half on his lap. Next to him sat Gaby.  
“So,” Napoleon said, pushing the blonde off his lap and telling her to come back later, “what’s the deal with that new guy?”  
Gaby sighed. “I knew you would ask that. You should give him a chance he’s really nice.”  
Napoleon just frowned.  
Gaby rolled her eyes, “His name is Illya, so stop calling him ‘the new guy’, and try not to glare at him when he comes in. He’s here on an exchange from Russia. From what I understand he’s taking mostly advanced classes, all except for English. And as far as I know, he has no intention on taking all the pretty girls in the school away from you, so please try be his friends,he doesn’t have many.”

As they spoke Illya walked into the canteen and made for an empty table. Napoleon sent a scowl his way, which Illya tried not to notice.

Gaby frowned at Napoleon as Illya sat down. “I’m going to go sit with him. You can join us, or you can sit here on your own.”.

To her disappointment Napoleon stayed seated as she picked up her tray and walked over to where Illya was seated. 

“Hey,” she said to Illya with a smile, “How are you finding the food?”

He looked down with a scowl, “Is like poison. Why do you eat this?”

She laughed, wrinkling up her nose, “It really is horrid. I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

Illya smiled, glad to have made an apparent friend at Gaby. Maybe this school wouldn’t be so bad. Behind her he could see a handsome boy with brown hair leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his crossed arms and scowl were giving off a very menacing air, and Illya could see his jaw clicking with anger. Illya frowned, he had seen Gaby come over from that table.

“That boy,” Illya said, nodding his head to where Napoleon sat, “He does not like me. Is he your boyfriend?”

Gaby choked on her food with laughter, “God no! That’s just Solo. Don’t mind him though, he’s just a little jealous. You’ve seen the way the girls look at you?”

Illya cringed, but nodded. He had noticed how their eyes followed him everywhere he went.

“Solo’s just mad because he only likes the girls looking at him like that.” Gaby finished. 

“Oh.” Illya said, “I will try my best to stop it. I apologise. I do not want to make enemies here.”

Gaby just laughed and ducked her head. If only it were that easy. 

******

When Gaby had said Illya wasn’t good at English, Napoleon had assumed he would be dropped down a year in it. Much to his dismay, his ‘poor English’ had simply landed him in Napoleon’s class, and now Napoleon felt like a right twat. Trust Gaby to make him feel like a right idiot. He was perfectly average, he usually got C’s. Or D’s. He wasn’t very good at paying attention. Which he was proving again, as he had been staring distractedly at the back of this ‘Illya’s’ head for the last twenty minutes. It was a few days after he’d arrived at his school and he’d already succeeded in majorly pissing Napoleon off.

“Napoleon!” his teacher said sharply, “Can you please tell me how The Crucible related to what was occurring in America at the time it was written?”

Napoleon cursed inside his head. He hadn’t actually gotten around to reading the play yet. Or watching it. He’d been busy with a leggy redhead over the weekend. He was regretting that now. 

“Uhm…” Napoleon started, trying to think of something, anything, to say, “Sex.”

What kind of an idea was that? He couldn’t unsay it now. Just keep going with the bullshit. That’s all this subject ever was.

His teacher glared, “What?”

Napoleon leaned back, feigning confidence, “Well, I imagine some sex was occurring in America when it was written. Sex is a very prolific part of our history here you know.”

His teacher bubbled red with anger. “That’s quite enough from you Napoleon, I’ll be seeing you in detention after school today.”

Napoleon grinned, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Illya was still turning the name Napoleon around in his head, picking it apart. Gaby had just called the boy Solo, but for some reason Illya preferred Napoleon. As much as a mouthful as it was, it seemed a lot less arrogant and cold than Solo. 

The teacher moved on “Mr Kuryakin, since you’re new I don’t expect you to have studied this text, but have you any ideas about what was going on in America?” 

Illya ground his teeth. He hated being picked on in class. Not that he couldn’t answer. Just that he didn’t want the attention. 

“I have read this play,” he replied, “although it was not in english.”

A couple of girls at the back of the room giggled.

“In the play people are being killed for, how you say, magic. They did not do anything wrong of course, magic is not real. When it was written, in America, people were being hunted for being communist, or for being nice to communists,” he cleared his throat, “Very bad time in America.”

Napoleon started to curse that damned russian for being so damn good at everything when he was cut off by Alex, the typical dumb jock, calling out “Are you a commie?” For some reason that pissed Napoleon off, he was supposed to be the only one having a go at the russian. 

Illya just shrugged, “Is nice ideal. Of course American ideals are much better.” He dragged out the much with such a sarcastic tone that the teacher cringed. Alex didn’t hear the sarcasm and grunted out, “Good.”

Napoleon smiled, then stopped himself. Half the girls had their eyes on Illya, smiling dreamily and whispering to their friends behind their hands. Napoleon grimaced. He was still the enemy.

The bell rang and the class filed out as quickly as they could. Most had already packed their bags. As Alex passed Illya’s table he pushed against it, knocking down Illya’s books and spilling most of his pens from their case. Illya simply sighed, but from his spot a couple of rows behind him Napoleon’s grip on the table tightened and he felt that wave of anger washing over him again. 

Napoleon took his time getting up, packing his bag leisurely. He watched Illya bend over to pick up his books. Napoleon savoured the view of Illya’s pants pulled tight around his ass, then kicked himself when he realised what he was thinking about. Now was not the time, Solo. 

As Illya straightened up to leave, Napoleon sauntered forwards. He blocked the exit. Illya looked around. He hadn’t realised the class had emptied but now he was alone, face to face with the boy he knew did not like him. He kept his posture straight and his face masked. He didn’t want to let Napoleon know how much he was intimidated by him. In his peripheral vision he could see streams of people out the window, fleeing school like startled animals. He was going to miss his bus if Napoleon kept him trapped here for long. He cleared his throat.

“Illya.” Napoleon started. His name sounded foreign on the American’s tongue, but not wrong. His pronunciation was a little off. “I think there are a few things we need to discuss.” Illya braced himself. This did not sound good. “At this school, I have a reputation. I’m on top, you understand?”

Illya nodded. “Do not concern yourself,” Illya said, “I am not interested in those American girls.”

Napoleon scoffed, “I find that unlikely, some of them are practically models.”

Illya’s cheeks pinked. This is what he had been avoiding. But what he wished to avoid even more was a fight on his first day. “You misunderstand,” he said, voice lowered, “I am not interested in any girls.”

Napoleon took a small step back as he registered what Illya had just said, instinctively uttering a small “Oh”. Gears clicked over in his head as he readjusted his previous opinions of Illya. Illya offered a small smile and shrugged. With his admission he had seemed to crumble, slouching down so he appeared much smaller than he was. He prepared himself for the worst.  
“Well,” Napoleon said, swallowing, “In that case,” he smirked, “do you want my number?”

Illya’s mouth opened but he did not speak. Napoleon laughed and started to turn to leave the classroom. His head snapped back so that he could wink before disappearing round the corner.

“See you round, Russia.”

*******

A week later Napoleon, Illya and Gaby all sat at a table eating lunch. Napoleon and Gaby were having a competition to see who could make Illya smile the most during the lunch period. So far, neither had managed to. 

“It’s no use,” Napoleon said with a laugh, “You must be made of stone!”

Illya was simply not in a good mood. America was not as fun as he had hoped it would be. So far today he had been asked out six times, twice by one girl. At least Napoleon did not get mad at him anymore, or as mad as he would have before he knew Illya’s secret. Illya was surprised at how cool with it Napoleon was, happy even. Less competition, he supposed. Although, as none of the girls (other than Gaby) knew, it did not stop them from trying. 

“Do you give up Solo?” Gaby said, “I win by default then!” Napoleon frowned slightly, but nodded.

He studied Illya’s face in silence. He was wearing blue today and it just made his eyes all the more startling. He clearly hadn’t had time to shave today, and a light stubble was smattered around his jaw. It looked good on him. His eyes found the scar that curved down to touch his cheekbone. He didn’t realise that he had reached out to touch it until Illya flinched back. 

“Steady, cowboy.” Illya said with a slight frown. 

Napoleon flushed, “Sorry, I didn’t realise. How did it happen?”

Illya tried to mask his face again, but Gaby noticed. “Illya?”

Illya swallowed. “My father liked to drink.” he said, before stopping and frowning. He didn’t like to tell this story. He didn’t want to tell this story. Beside him he could see Gaby nodding, encouraging him to continue. He tried not to look at her, or Napoleon, keeping his eyes locked on the half eaten sandwich on his lunch tray. 

“My father liked to drink.” He started again, “And one day he took me and my younger sister for a drive, to the zoo he said, after he’d been drinking. I was only young, I did not know better than to trust him. I was in the back of the car, but my sister begged our father to let her sit in front with him.” He felt Gaby’s hand slide over his, and he realised he had been tapping his fingers against the table. “It was a train,” he continued, “that he crashed into. He nearly took out the whole carriage. He was going so fast.” He frowned. “I should not have let her sit in the front, I should have argued and made her sit in back with me.” His eyes started to water, but he swallowed and continued, “There were 12 people in the carriage. Only three survived -and me.” He looked up, eyes locking onto Napoleon. “I am lucky to have scar.”

Napoleon was lost for words. He wanted to reach out and hold his friend’s hand, just as Gaby had done, but he was glued in place. Illya’s ice blue eyes were piercing his and the raw sadness in them was devastating.  
“Illya, I’m, I’m so sorry.” he finally choked out. 

Illya simply shook his head. There was a lump in his throat and he knew that if he tried to speak he would begin to cry. Gaby looked as if she were about to cry herself. The three of them sat in a sombre silence for a few minutes. 

“I’m going to go get some water.” Napoleon finally said.

Illya nodded, and Gaby tried to smile. Illya watched Napoleon walk away. Illya always felt the strangest feeling at Napoleon walking away, a tightness in his chest. He wondered if Napoleon felt it too.

Gaby leaned her head on Illya’s shoulder, trying to snap herself out of sadness. 

“Illya,” she said, “when are you going to tell Napoleon that you like him?”

Illya’s throat tightened further and a scowl curled across his face. “I’m not going to tell him because I do not.”

That made Gaby smile again. “You’re a terrible liar, did you know that? And I’m not an idiot. I’m very good at telling these things.”

Illya’s frown deepened. Did he like Napoleon? It would explain a few things. Like how much he loved the way Napoleon said his name. Or how much he enjoyed when Napoleon wore that tight black t-shirt. Or how his chest tightened every time Napoleon said goodbye to him. Or how… oh god he did, didn’t he? That stupid American. Maybe magic was real, and Napoleon had put a spell on him. 

“Illya?” Gaby prompted him, “Have you changed your last answer?” She had one eyebrow raised. 

Illya grunted. “It would not matter. He is not interested. I am not his type.” 

“Tall, good looking, blond?” Gaby said, “Honey, you are exactly his type.”

Illya frowned. “He is interested in girls.”

Gaby snorted, “Not exclusively. Notice how he hasn’t had any girlfriends since you arrived?”  
The idea that Napoleon might like him twisted through his mind. It was ridiculous. He should not believe it. He should not allow himself to believe it. He knew how complicated it became when you grew attached to people. They moved on.

He snapped out of his thoughts to the noise of Napoleon’s chair scraping back. He hadn’t noticed Napoleon walking back. 

“Did I miss something?” Napoleon said.

Gaby looked up at Illya pointedly, but he just glared at her slightly. “Nope, not a thing.”

******

 

Illya stood at his locker, between classes. He couldn’t stop thinking about Napoleon, about how he felt about Napoleon. These feelings… he needed to stop them. Nothing would ever become of them. He shouldn’t carry false hope. 

He closed his locker and flinched in surprise upon turning around. Alex was standing squarely in front of him, flanked by two other football goons who had likely been held back a year or two. 

“So, commie.” Alex said with a vicious smirk, “I heard a rumour. Do you know what about?”

Illya shook his head, again trying his best to avoid confrontation. 

“Isn’t that great, Vince?” Alex said to the guy on his left, “commie here doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him!” Illya gritted his teeth but didn’t speak. “Well,” Alex continued, “I heard that you’ve been playing for the other team. Gonna deny it fag?”

Illya simply ground his teeth and tried to step around them, but the two men on either side of Alex boxed him in. 

“I need to go to class.” Illya ground out, as levelly as he could, trying again to escape, this time between Alex and Vince. A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder and shoved him back against the lockers. 

“We haven’t finished talking yet.” 

Illya swore under his breath in Russian. He had really been hoping that they did not find out. His index and middle fingers were tapping against his thigh as he focused on his breathing. 

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out, “If you don’t get to class soon Miss will have a fit, you know how she is. I don’t really fancy staying after school again!”

Illya breathed out, relieved. Napoleon.  
Alex pushed Illya against the lockers once more, apparently satisfied by the thud it made as Illya’s head collided with it.  
“Don’t worry faggot, we’ll get you when your boyfriend isn't around.”

******

Throughout the English lesson Illya kept his head down and tried to ignore the hissed abuse that Alex kept firing at him. Disappointed by the lack of a reaction (he couldn’t see Illya grinding his teeth or tapping his fingers against his thigh) Alex decided to increase his cruelty. 

“ Hey Solo,” He called out, allowing Napoleon to slowly turn his head round before continuing. Napoleon had been staring at the back of Illya’s head, completely out of it, thinking about just how soft Illya’s hair would feel, and had missed everything that Alex had said to Illya. “Did you know your friend there is a poofter?”

Concern for his friend tightened in Napoleon’s chest. He tried not to show how worried he was. He simply raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a cool manner and said, “So what if he is? There are worse things than liking dick.” There was an edge to his voice that he knew Illya would pick up, but he hoped Alex wouldn’t. 

Alex leaned forward with a laugh, “Is that how it is then Solo? You and him?” Illya flushed, still refusing to turn around. His knuckles were white as his grip tightened. The pencil in his closed fist snapped and dug into his palm. He could hear the teacher yelling at the three of them, something about detention, but he couldn’t focus on her words. All he could focus on was the sound of Napoleon sucking in a breath before starting to speak.

“I would try and explain to you that we are just friends, but, as you don’t have any of those, I doubt you’d understand.” 

Alex ignored him, unable to think of a response and instead spoke to Illya, “Hey fag, since you’re not getting any here why don’t you just go back to Russia and suck on your daddy’s dick some more?”

Illya didn’t think. He barely realised he was moving. Everything was red, harsh. He registered the desk sliding back as he stood up, he registered people scooting back in their seats as he passed, he registered Alex’s skin beneath his fists, but it did not feel like his actions. He was not in control. He felt Alex’s nose crunch as his arm again swung at his face but he did not control his arm. He heard a scream come out of his mouth and he felt blood on his hands but nothing felt as if it were his doing. Nothing was real.

And then there were arms, around his. They were real. He didn’t need to look to know whose they were. He fought him, thrashed forward against his restraints, but Napoleon dragged him back, out of the class, ignoring the stream of russian that Illya yelled at Alex as he left. Illya could feel Napoleon’s heartbeat on his back, and despite his flailing, Napoleon’s arms around him felt strangely secure.

Outside Napoleon pushed Illya against the locker, pinning him there with one arm on either side of his body.

“Illya!” he said, “Snap out of it!”

Illya was still shaking, a mix of anger and adrenalin. He was aware of his movements now, but wanted to go in and rip that idiot’s head off no less. “Illya!”

He looked up, his eyes meeting Napoleon’s. 

“You heard what he says. He deserves it. Let me go back!”

Napoleon shook his head. “Illya,” he pleaded, “You need to calm down. He didn’t know what he was talking about with your father.” He swallowed what he wanted to say, about how he felt, and added, “Or with us.”

Illya became all the more aware of his proximity to Napoleon when he said that. 

“Let me hurt him more.”

Napoleon sighed, dropping his head slightly. “You know you can’t.” He looked back up, into Illya’s eyes. They were so close. Napoleon could practically taste Illya’s breath. He could still see the rage in Illya’s eyes, cutting through the ice. His jaw was set hard, teeth bared slightly, but he lowered his gaze slightly so he was staring straight back at him. 

“Let me go.” he growled. 

Napoleon didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t hold Illya here forever. Physically, Illya could easily overpower him. He thought about what Alex had said, about the two of them, and he felt a knot form in his stomach. He could see Illya open his mouth, to argue for his freedom. Napoleon closed the gap between them and kissed him as hard as he could. He just wanted him to shut up. With their lips pressed together Illya seemed to slacken, his anger deserting him. He responded to the kiss with the same amount of passion as he had shown inside the class, although now with lips and tongue instead of fists.This was a very different passion. Then he realised what he was doing and pushed Napoleon back. 

“What are you doing, cowboy?” he hissed, “Are you crazy?”

Napoleon stepped back. He had kissed Illya. Illya had kissed him back? He grinned. 

“Crazy about you.”


End file.
